


Gone in the Morning

by holyrobo



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spooning, spoiler free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7246780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyrobo/pseuds/holyrobo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each of the children had developed a coping mechanism to deal with the harsh reality they lived in - with the horrors they'd faced it was only natural. Inigo could've explained all of his comrades coping methods, but was utterly wrong about what he thought his own was.<br/>(Fluffy, light-hearted Inigo/Owain to Laslow/Odin. A little bit of angst, but mostly just bros looking out for each other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> _There are NO SPOILERS for any route of Fates/If in this! All that's used are characters names._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This is something that's been bouncing around in my head for a few days and I finally got a chance to sit and write it today. I've been playing Fates non-stop since it came out and I feel even more in love with my boys (I don't think I could've cried any more at their A support than I did) than I thought was possible after Awakening! This isn't my best work but I really just wanted to get this out of my head. I'm not good at writing pieces as long as this ;;  
> You can read it romantically or platonically, though romantically it's probably more one-sided ♡

Inigo knew that out of all of them, Owain was the one who relied on his coping mechanism the most. Each of them had developed one in the face of the terrible enemies they fought together and heartaches they fought privately. Some were more obvious than others, but they were there alright - like a thin, battered shield under the surface of their skin. Severa became sarcastic and biting, pushing people away before they could get too close to her. Noire bet her life on her placebo talisman. Laurent, so terrified of being left alone, distanced himself from everyone so that if they left it wouldn't hurt as much. Cynthia forced cheerfulness. Gerome hid constantly behind his mask. Kjelle poured everything into her physique to the point of injury. He himself indulged in flirting.

And then there was sweet Prince Owain. Lucina's blond, curly haired cousin with light freckle kisses across his milky round cheeks. Green eyes still so full of wonder and hope. Childish but unparalleled in swordsmanship and vigour. But of all of the coping mechanisms the children had developed, Owain's ran the deepest. A persona of heroism and fun - as annoying as it became at times, he excited the most laughs from the others in times of rest. It became the most vital aspect of their survival: the battles wouldn’t kill them (he hoped), but the heartbreak and hopelessness that they each harboured would. Owain, unable to handle the pressures of facing the reality they lived in became the group clown instead, fighting the gloom that settled between them alone. Inigo knew that he himself was not up to the task of keeping group morale up, but figured that he could at least try to smooth over the cracks in Owain’s mask when it slipped. He wondered whether the others had even come to realise everything that the young prince did for them, or, like him, didn’t want to jinx them all by verbalising it.

*

It was a particularly dark night when Owain first came to him. All of the stars that had watched over them thus far had seemingly withered and died. There was not a single twinkle in the endless black sky. Not one. Not even his mother’s.

"Inigo?" Called a small, shaky voice; "are you still awake?"

He had been. He'd always been a bit of a night-owl. Truthfully, with the horrific nightmares he'd been having, anyone would be. "I am. Is something the matter, chap?"

"Promise you won't tell the others."

 _Odd_ , Inigo had thought, _he's not speaking like he usually does nowadays_. "I won't tell them,” he whispered back. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight? Just tonight. It's just because, uh, I'm having really bad -“ Nightmares.

"Say no more, Owain," Inigo whispered, signalling regardless of the darkness for Owain to make his way over. "It's the least I can do for you, pal. I know holding onto someone leads to better sleep, and we definitely need you and that vicious sword hand of yours on top form. Can’t have you falling asleep in the middle of battle, can we?”

Owain wasted no time and crawled over, bringing his own blanket with him, quickly and instinctively becoming the big spoon. Inigo, who often felt the cold, was immediately appreciative of the other boys warmth. He even felt safer tucked between Owain's scarred, muscular arms. "You really don't mind this?" Whispered Owain into Inigo's ear.

"Of course not, chap. I shall simply imagine that you are a beautiful, large breasted woman and proceed to have the sweetest dreams of my life thus far."

They shared a quiet, breathy chuckle. “I would make an exceptionally beautiful young maiden! The purest of virgins, sought after by every eligible bachelor in the kingdom… Yet I would turn down each hand and break each longing heart for there is no greater love in my life than mine own -"

"Hand?"

"... Sword."

Inigo chuckled. "Glad to see you perking up. Get some rest now though - before you wake up the others, alright?" It was quiet then, after he'd said that. A comfortable pause between the pair of them and the other sleeping boys settled until Owain whispered a "thank you" so quiet that Inigo almost didn't hear it. Never before had he ever heard such honest sincerity and been warmed so much. Slowly but surely, their bodies took over and they both slipped into a restful, nightmare-free sleep.

When Inigo awoke in the morning, he found Owain sleeping back where he’d laid before he’d moved to hold the other boy. There was no trace of him ever having moved, and for a few early morning, bleary-eyed moments, Inigo wondered if they really even had spooned last night. Gerome, who’d obviously been awake for a while, gruffly announced that if the pair of them planned on sleeping for any longer he’d personally devour their share of breakfast. That got them both moving.

As they made their way out of the abandoned building they’d been using as a base for the past few days, Inigo decided that it was best to not bring it up. The logs that surrounded their small fire pit - constantly lit thanks to Nah - were occupied by the small band of sleepy eyed child soldiers. Birds chirped their morning song in nearby trees and a brisk wind wiped away the warmth from sleep that lingered on their skin. Owain seemed his usual self this morning, bouncing around and huffing about the fact that the spoon he had named ‘Almighty Gruel Tool’ yesterday was not the spoon he had been given this morning. Severa was yelling at him as usual. The whole run-of-the-mill situation made Inigo wonder if he had actually just dreamed the whole scenario. Perhaps he had, he thought as he sat next to Gerome and chewed through the bland goop Lucina had handed to him.

As everyone else was off preparing themselves - Kjelle at her strength training, Brady playing a jig on his prized violin (and Cynthia excitedly - yet clumsily - dancing along to the tune), Gerome eventually slinking off somewhere to brood in peace Inigo guessed - he was joined by Owain with bowl and unnamed spoon in hand.

“You have my sincerest thank yous for our secret rendezvous last night, friend. I saved you some extra breakfast,” the blond said, about to pour what looked like a solid half of his own breakfast into Inigo’s bowl.

Inigo himself could only chuckle and push Owain’s advancing hands away in a flustered panic. “Owain,” he started, paling at the thought of eating any more of the tasteless slop they unwillingly called food; “you really hadn’t do that! I’m sure this stuff is toxic in large doses. Plus, isn’t that hand of yours always hungering for something or the other?”

“Ah!” Owain cried, as if suddenly remembering something. “It would appear that not only are you generous under the cover of darkness - and also _the_ covers - but also, it would seem, your kindness continues into the harsh light of day! I am intensely grateful to have you on the side of justice, for if you were a foe I am certain you’d be frighteningly formidable…For the others, of course. For a chosen one as gifted as myself you would fall instantaneously. Thine would die a valiant death upon my curse-ed blade.” Inigo watched partly in amazement and partly in fear as the other boy hungrily shovelled the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth between his words. He could not help but smile at his playfulness, as annoying as it was. “Well, lets avoid the topic of my unavoidable death, ha. But you really don’t have to thank me, chap. You’re welcome to…Ah, how can I put this? Use my services whenever you find yourself needing them.” He was blushing terribly - there really was no better way to say that - but he was dreadfully sincere about it.

Owain’s sunny expression dimmed a little. “You’re really alright with that? Truthfully, I haven’t slept so well in ages. I feel as if I can trust you, Inigo, and I’ll - I’ll make sure to save you the embarrassment of anyone else finding out about it,” he said quietly, his eyes softening and fixing their gaze shyly on his now empty bowl.

Taken aback but deeply touched nevertheless, Inigo put a firm hand on Owain’s shoulder. “Anytime, chap. Just come on over. Though, if I’m asleep - don’t wake me.” They both laughed, grinned and parted for the day to train and cheer and dance. An agreement formed silently between them.

From then on, more often than not, Owain would sneak over to Inigo and wrap his arms around his sleeping frame. Inigo, forced into becoming a light sleeper due to the harshness of war, usually woke from the sensation of arms around his waist and breath on the back of his neck. His stomach lurched each time - the instinct to fight was so ingrained in him that he often flinched. But it was never an enemy. Only ever a friend in need.

And every time that Owain would come to him seeking solace and comfort, he was gone before he ever awoke in the morning. No one asked him about it because no one had seen. How he did it, Inigo would never work out - perhaps the boy was in tune with the moon (honestly, that wouldn’t come as much of a surprise at this point, either) and moved naturally when the moon was fazed out by the soft light of sunrise. After a while, Inigo stopped thinking about it. It didn’t matter anyway. Furthermore, he quickly came to realise that whenever Owain came to him, in the morning he would feel refreshed and more alive than ever. No nightmares plagued him, he felt more energised and awake in the morning. At night, when Owain’s arms would brush past him - his callous hands careful not to touch him and make him uncomfortable - Inigo found himself feeling safe. His dreams became enjoyable. His mother never died - but danced instead.

Travelling to the past proved to be their toughest challenge yet. None of them could have predicted that they would’ve been separated and flung to every corner of their parents as yet not devastated lands. Inigo felt deeply for Laurent who was sent too far back and forced to face his biggest fears of being utterly, totally alone for years. The only member of their not-so-merry band who seemed to not have suffered immensely was Gerome who appeared to thrive on solitude. Inigo wasn’t so sure if he felt that way deep down, but he did a damn good job of hiding it. Noire and Yarne became more nervous than ever. Even when they all met up again under their parents, Chrom’s and Robin’s wings, the pair of them flinched terribly at any sudden movement. Even Inigo himself had found it hard. Seeing his mother alive and well, sitting with his father, breathing, smiling, eating and laughing was a reminder of her expression being harsh eyed and her body being weaponless, drenched with sweat, weaving and dancing through troops. Using herself as a shield. Dying to keep him alive. It made his heart clench and his head to spin. They hadn’t found Owain yet, but he needed him. Everyone did. In camp at night he was gripped with bad dreams. They wove their way through the tent doors, spreading across him like black smoke, sliding under his blanket and crawling into his ears to terrorise his mind. He went days without sleep until he'd finally pass out, too tired to even dream. _If this is how I’m feeling_ , he thought often in his worst moments, desperate to seek out his beautiful mother for comfort but too afraid to become attached again, _Owain must be suffering tenfold_.

So it was only natural that when they finally found him, everyone was over joyed. Severa cried - though later she would swear that she didn’t (“Crying? Are you _daft_? Do you _know_ how bad my hay fever was that day?”). Cynthia re-emerged as her sunny self having gotten her partner in crime back, hugging Owain so tight that his head looked ready to burst from the pressure. Inigo hung back as they all greeted him, smiling softly to himself, feeling the turmoil inside him melt away like cotton candy in one’s mouth. The night Owain joined their party, Inigo snuck out for his nightly secret dance practice. This time, he found himself laughing when he got the steps wrong, his movements felt fluid and free. He was unable to wipe the smile from his face as he turned, dipped and extended his slender arms out before him. The burning passion he had had returned - the light he’d seen before in the midst of black, bloody war appeared faintly in the distance again. He was on stage and he was turning, turning, turning.

However, he was not surprised to see that Owain had retreated further into his persona. He had been tough to understand before they’d returned to their parents time, but now the majority of what he spewed was utterly incomprehensible. He laughed more than ever, even though upon seeing his mother for the first time again, he’d cried like a massively overgrown baby. He had become even more deadly on the battle field. Training constantly with his father, begging to learn proper swordsmanship from his Uncle Chrom (and Lucina, when Chrom was busy with Robin). Inigo could see it clear as day - he’d matured more than any of them had and lost more of himself at the same time. The confidence he’d built up had been shattered completely. His eyes - though they still shone like the most precious of jewels, were framed by dark circles.

 *

“You know,” Inigo said one evening, pulling out the wooden chair next to where Owain set at the large table in the mess tent; “my services from before we came here are still available if you need them.”

“Hah! I cannot blame a mere mortal for miscalculating my increased prowess, but I no longer require the services of that of a nanny. My blood rages inside of me and my hand - oh, Gods! My hand, like a starved wild carnivore of old legends no longer needs support from anyone - let alone that of a pretty boy!”

“You think I’m pretty?” Inigo said smiling, dipping his bread into his soup, trying desperately not to snap rudely at the other boy like he so badly wanted to. _He needs someone,_ he thought. _Inigo, you beast, you have to grin and bear it._

“T-that is beside my point!” Owain stuttered as his cheeks started glowing red with embarrassment, standing up with greater anger and force than Inigo thought he had in him. “I implore you to offer thine supposed ‘service’ to one who requires it. As I said, I am no longer in need of… I-in need of - ah, Gods,” Inigo looked up at him quickly at the change in his speech only to find that Owain was crying. Thick, hot tears poured from his eyes while his calloused, salve caked hands trembled in front of his chest. “Wh-what is this? It would appear that my… That my power can no longer be contained… By my b-body. It’s leaking out,” he choked through a sticky throat.

Inigo was thankful that they were alone. He reacted instantly, pulling the weeping boy into his arms, his hand firmly on the back of Owain’s head, his fingers mussing through his blond hair. “Shut up you stupid, stupid fool,” he said, rubbing Owain’s back with his other hand. “No more, alright? Not around me. You don’t have to act for me.”

The fabled hero of ancient lore said nothing, but his hands curled into fists, gripping the back of Inigo’s vest tightly. Shaking sobs wrought his body which to Inigo seemed smaller than it had ever been. A few nervous minutes later, Owain lessened his grip and pulled away. His eyes were red and puffy and his breath was laboured but he grinned nonetheless. “Thank you, Inigo,” he said, his voice carrying the same sincerity that it had all those months ago in the dead of night when he’d first held him. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.” Inigo could only nod and smile before Owain excused himself - he had some urgent dark business to take care of, apparently. “Any time,” Inigo said after he’d gone, looking down at the wet patches on his shoulder and chest and wondering how he could explain them to the next person on laundry duty.

That night, Owain slipped into Inigo’s tent. Inigo was curled up but still awake thinking about his parents. Although he had never been as close to his father as he had Olivia, he found himself developing newfound affection for him having spent some time around him. The three of them living as a normal family had been something that’d been on his mind for some time. He was being idealistic with his thoughts if nothing else. At the opening of the tent door, Inigo snapped out of his daydream and reached for his sword, pointing it at the intruder with violent eyes before realising who said intruder was. “Gods, Owain! Are you trying to scare me to death?” He said with a sigh, returning his sword to it’s rightful place beside his bed. “As if an intruder could scare mighty Inigo of the Indigo Skies to death,” Owain whispered. “You said your offer was still open and well, I,” he sucked in air through his teeth before exhaling heavily. “I’d love to have a night of respite against night terrors.”

Inigo said nothing - he too was gagging for a good nights sleep - and moved over, making room for Owain. Neither of them said a word as they fitted together seamlessly like jigsaw pieces; Owain snuggling as close as he could. The sensation of the Prince’s strong forearms on his slim waist was comforting beyond belief. Inigo melted into sleep and found himself not minding if morning never came.

It did, however, and when Robin’s cheerful face appeared through the tent door, urging Inigo to wake up (“As much as I’d like to stay in bed too, we _are_ at war, Inigo.”), Inigo immediately panicked at getting caught with Owain sharing his bed. Robin would never tell anyone nor say anything about it, but the embarrassment of it would kill Inigo stone dead. He looked to his side in worry, but Owain wasn’t there. Inigo breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll be at breakfast before you know it, Robin.” Of course, he was always gone before morning.

From then on, about once a week, Owain would stalk through camp as silent as a stalking panther into Inigo’s tent and hold him while he slept. The toughest part of his journey apparently was past Robin’s tent, who Owain claimed he had never once seen sleep. The light’s always on, he’d said to Inigo once; absolutely worked to death, that tactician. Regardless, not once in the whole span of the war they tirelessly wagered did Owain get caught - or at least, if he did, no one ever said anything to him. The benefits of being an eccentric, Inigo had thought.

*

For the future children, finally defeating Grima was bittersweet. They had saved their parents lives and their future, but in doing so, they had erased their purpose in the world. They could no longer stay with their parents since they’d be born soon. Lucina had already been born in this timeline and it wouldn’t be long before the rest of them followed. They couldn’t stay, but it was nigh on impossible for them to go. Losing parents once is bad enough, but to be forced to lose them a second time is worse. Some of their group had married off and said they’d be going far away to build a peaceful life together - some to live quietly in the outskirts of Ylisse, some went to rebuild Valm. Eventually, as everyone dispersed with promises of ‘we’ll meet again soon’, ‘I’ll visit you’, and ‘write to me’, the future children were whittled down to a crowd of three. Severa, Inigo and Owain. Severa admitted that she did not have talents for anything other than war. Without it, her life would be boring and meaningless. She’d go wherever there were people to defend and fight for. Inigo said he wanted new culture. He wanted to dance on a stage far away from here (“You see, my mother has already monopolised the dancing world of Ylisse, Ferox and Valm and it won’t be long before she conquers Plegia too, I should suspect.”), and although he didn’t say it, already knew that he would go wherever Owain went. Owain said he needed to reinvent himself. His blood was no longer satisfied by pursuits of the blade. His mothers talents for magic, he said, had been slumbering within him for years. Finally, said talent had matured into a beast more powerful and battle hungry than his sword hand had ever been. 

“Well,” Severa said with a huff. “That settles it, right? We have to move on to somewhere else. And, well,” a small, shy blush spread over her face, “since we all want new pastures… I guess it’d be beneficial if we stuck together, right? Not that _I_ need you - if anything you two fools would _die_ without my help.”

Inigo laughed. “Severa, my darling, I would keel over if I had to go a day without seeing your beautiful face!”

Owain jumped in before Inigo would inevitably be stabbed by a now fuming red-head. “My comrades… One thing is certain. We are now celebrated heroes of soon-to-be ancient lore - no doubt bards have already sung of our fabled achievements throughout every land imaginable. If we are to operate safely we shall need to fabricate new identities entirely, perhaps even invest in permanent face altering magic to -“  
“That, my friend,” Inigo butted in, “is completely unnecessary.”

“Yeah,” Severa added monotonously, “just changing our names should be good enough.”

And so, Selena, Laslow and Odin Dark arrived in Nohr.

*

“Ah, Lord Leo!” Laslow cried, “excuse me, sir, but would you happen to know where Odin is?”

The young prince turned to face his brothers retainer and eyed him with tired suspicion. It had not been long since Xander and his retainers had joined their brigade lead by Corrin, yet the mercenary seemed to have made fast friends with his blond retainer. “The last time I saw - well, _heard_ him - he was in the armoury pestering Niles very loudly about naming every weapon in our arsenal.” Laslow nodded and gave his thanks before trotting off in search of the dark mage before it got too dark. Leo could only wonder what business ones of Xander’s retainers had with one of his own.

Odin was indeed in the armoury when Laslow got there, but Niles was nowhere to be seen. Laslow guessed he’d probably gotten lucky and escaped some time ago. Not everyone could handle Odin like he and Selena could.

Odin jumped up at the sight of Laslow. It had been some time since they’d seen each other and although only one of them would go on to admit it, they’d both missed each other terribly. In an ideal world all three of them would’ve served one lord and spent all of their waking time together. However, they knew by now that their luck was cursed - for the four Nohr nobles, they had been assigned separately to three of them.

“Lord Corrin has just gotten to building quarters for Lord Xander and his retainers. They’re near to your own, I think,” Laslow grinned. “I thought I should come let you know.”

Odin clasped a hand on his old friends shoulder. “Gods, that is the most blessed news I’ve heard since Niles informed me that a new batch of weapons must be bestowed names.”  
Inigo shuffled, moving his weight to his other leg. “And Seve - I mean, Selena is here too, correct? Who would’ve thought the three of us would be bound together by war again like this. I can no longer tell if we’re lucky or horrendously cursed.”

“We’re lucky - as long as we stay alive,” Odin said, picking up a particularly dusty looking tome and brushing the dirt off. “Of course, being a fell chosen one I shall never fall to any of our dastardly enemies. The infinity black darkness within me will not allow me to die.”

“Make sure you don’t, chap,” Laslow replied. _I don’t know what I’d do without you_ were the words that he left unspoken. “Well, I must be off. Just a fleeting hello this time, I’m afraid. Lord Xander has given me some precious time off and I have caught wind of a quaint little village being within walking distance. I shall have a hoard of local girls hanging off of my arms by the time I return.” Making for the door, Laslow smiled. Who would’ve thought they’d still be together fighting side by side all these years later. Who would’ve thought that he’d ever have found a friendship as precious as the one he shared with Odin - no - _Owain_.

“I would invite you along, chap, but I fear you’ll just scare the girls right off,” he added as he slipped outside. 

“I have plenty dark weapons to christen so I would’ve rejected you anyway! Not that you’re a stranger to rejection!” Odin called after him. Laslow could not help but grin so hard that the tears he’d been on the verge of shedding since learning that Odin was here almost escaped from his eyes.

Odin made midnight visits only occasionally now. While the risk before had been embarrassment, the risk now was far greater. Without a doubt, with their traceless pasts if Odin was caught sneaking into Laslow’s quarters, which was directly below the future King of Nohr’s chamber and adjacent to Peri’s, the interrogation would not last as long as their certain deaths. That put Selena at risk too - something neither of them wanted for her especially as she seemed happier here in Nohr than she had ever been in all the years they’d known her. To take that away from her would be cruel beyond belief.

Sometimes it was hard to see Odin and Owain as the same person. Laslow felt like he was living a lie every time someone called him ‘Laslow’ - it just wasn’t the beautiful name his precious mother had given him - but it had nothing on the difference between Odin and Owain. Odin was a dark mage - fearsome and powerful but away from the heat of battle. Owain was a man who lived by the sword, right in the fray and fighting with every screaming muscle he had to keep the people he loved alive by intimately killing others. Laslow couldn’t help but feel that Odin was even further away from the real boy - _man_ \- that he was. A persona for the persona. 

It was only in the depths of night when the thin woollen sheets around his lean frame shifted, and a welcome, human warmth spread across his back that Laslow felt satisfied. An arm snaked comfortably around his firm waist and he felt himself being drawn in closer to Odin’s firm body. This was safety. This was happiness. “I’ll always be here for you, old friend,” Laslow said sleepily, tentatively interlacing his rough fingers with Odin’s softening ones for the first time. “And I for you, Inigo of the Indigo Skies,” came the tired reply. Laslow smiled and felt his breathing even out: his heart beat synchronising with the pounding of the one he felt against his broad back. The last thing he felt before sleep invited him into it’s pillowy, weightless embrace was Odin gently squeezing his hand in his own. 

And when Laslow awoke in the morning, Odin was gone.


End file.
